(Monthly) Short Story Writing Prompts Submission Thread

:l

 

@Imnotarobot A suggestion to you, please write things in full lines, it's hard to read like that.

 

@brasca123 AH sorry, sometimes I forget I am typing not thinking. I will fix it

 

@Liron Good.

Spoiler

@NZPIEFACE Good but I see this scene fits more between a drunked old man and a fool within a tavern and we have all the background we need.

Spoiler

@Ged Merrilin I'm not good to judge descritive story.

Nope, at least it should catch reader's
interest. Like @iampsyx said the characters need more "weight" or it's just a empty story. They are main characters of their short story, not background characters nobody care what they do.

 

I'm glad you liked but could you be a bit more specific? What you liked, what you disliked and why. I'm really eager when it comes to writing, so I can only try to get as many critiques as I can for my works before I do something serious.

 

The story is well write and too short to give some kind of critiques from me. Next time if I feel something wrong, I will tell you.

 

Thanks!

 

Title: After Life
Length: less than 2500 words

I feel like any real synopsis just wouldn't work, or would ruin the story. I'll just say that it's slow, and mostly based on the interactions between two characters.

Spoiler: After Life

With not even five minutes passing by, something unpleasant has already approached me.

Turning my eyes up from my glass of cranberry juice, a scruffy looking man, his sand colored hair swept back, met my gaze. The only thing he wore that looked presentable was his buttoned up shirt, with a blue stripe pattern on it, and sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He was also smiling ever so slightly. However, it seemed like his smile didn't contain any particular emotion.

What do you think a rose means?

Such is the question this obnoxious person kept asking around the bar, and has thus asked me. Except for a few people, nobody has bothered answering, instead telling the asker to 'piss off', or more nicely, to 'fuck off'.

A sigh escaped from my mouth. "Faith, I guess."

After hearing so, the man pulled out the chair in front of me and sat down. His actions, horribly quick, prevented me from doing a thing to stop him. The fact that he didn't do this to the other people who answered him irked me more than anything.

Leaning in, the man's smile widened. "How interesting."

As soon as he leaned in, a flowery smell that could make a dog faint drifted into my nose. When he spoke, the smell of alcohol mixed with the flowers-- a hideous stench. But still, my hand resisted the urge to wave the air or cover my nose.

"I think it has to do with balance!" the man suddenly said, making weird hand motions as he continued: "When you pick a rose, is it not for a loved one? Without such a person who is worthy of that rose, how could one find balance in their life? The rose is a symbol of one's balance, for it means that one has someone that makes up for their shortcomings-- someone that balances them!"

From the way he speaks to the waving of his hands, I can easily tell that he's not one to associate myself with. It's like watching a child flail around and call it 'acting'.

"So can you see my point?!"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Sure, why not."

At my words, the man's smile grew even wider. "You have to tell me why you believe a rose means 'faith'. I won't be able to sleep if you don't."

"It was just the first thing I thought of," I replied, sighing afterwards.

After saying so, I stood up to prevent the man from replying. As the conversation wasn't worth continuing, and the guy was nuts, then why bother staying?

As my drink had been paid for, my exit was swift, as was my trip across the porch. When the cool, fresh air hit me, I stopped and took a deep breath, the smells of the dingy bar becoming cleansed from my nostrils. And with that refreshment, my right foot stepped forward.

The ground under me moved along with my foot.

My body fell back, and sure enough, with a firm splat, my backside hit the ground. The cold, muddy ground. The reason for me going into the bar was the rain from an hour ago, yet the effects of the weather had somehow slipped my mind.

Brilliant. My coat's dirty now and I don't even have a change of clothes. The least you could do is take me to dinner first.

Before getting up, my gaze shifted in the direction of my car, only to see that it was gone. Stolen, surely. Some shards of glass from the broken window were still poking up from the mud.

However, the coat feels like the bigger issue. The car was alright, but this coat was more expensive than an arm and leg.

"Need a hand?" a familiar voice, that of the madman, sounded out from behind me.

"Yes, please," I replied, turning my head back.

With a slight nod, the madman began making his way over. When he arrived, my body tried struggling around to make my rescue easier, but to no avail. The madman didn't even wait, though, as he just stepped down into the mud like I did, only not slipping, and then extended his hand toward me.

Without hesitation, my hand flew over to grasp it, and with what seemed like the effort of lifting a feather, the madman lifted me out of the mud.

As my legs found stability, my eyes were fixed to the strange person before me. Christ, my body is on the thin side, but it's certainly not light. If he pulled any harder, I would've been thrown rather than lifted.

"You alright?" the madman asked, the same emotionless smile on his face.

"Yes, thank you." At the same time as my reply, my arms moved cautiously as they escaped my dirtied coat and folded it over my left arm. The mud was sandwiched between the folds, thankfully preventing it from getting on anything else.

The madman suddenly extended his hand toward me. "My name's Phillip."

My hand hesitated for a moment, but still, I am not so hateful as to not accept a simple handshake. "James."

Not matching the strength from earlier, the madman's handshake was loose, and his hand was that of a rich boy's.

"Well then." I gave a slight nod and pursed my lips for a moment before walking away.

"Hey, was that blue Prius yours, by any chance?"

Closing my eyes for a second, my body turned towards the madman, though my gaze and head pointed at the ground instead of him. "Yes. Yes, it was."

"Oh... Bummer."

Pursing my lips again, I nodded a couple times. "Yeah... My car being stolen is quite a 'bummer'."

This time, with a quickened pace, I walked away. Really, there are no more words to exchange. All there is to do is walk a little less than a mile, and everything'll be done.

Moving past the muddy parking lot to the crap road, I turned left. What met my view after turning was, in between the trees lining the road, a massive body of water-- the ocean. It wasn't my first time viewing it, but those times were only through media or the view from a plane's window.

"Heading to the beach?"

Give me ten seconds, dammit.

My head didn't even turn this time as I simply moved forward. "What makes you say that?"

The sound of hurried steps came up behind me until the madman was only a meter or two away.

"Well you're walking toward it now, so there's not much to doubt. And really, the beach is the only thing anyone comes here for," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm also heading to the beach."

"So you're a tourist?"

"No, I'm an outsider."

"A what?"

"It sounds cooler than tourist."

Fantastic. 'Cooler than tourist,' he says. Brilliant.

After a few moments of blessed silence and peaceful walking, the madman spoke up once again.

"You still haven't told me why you believe a rose means 'faith'."

As a sigh escaped my mouth, my head faced the sky for a second before looking at the ground again. "I have."

"No you haven't."

"I have. Listen clearly next time."

"That wasn't an answer."

Turning my gaze over to the madman, my eyes surely reflected a certain impatience.

"So what is it?"

Though of course he didn't understand.

My gaze went back to the road. "What's wrong with you?"

"What?"

"You're following me and won't shut up about bloody roses."

"I'm just going to the beach, this is the only road, and roses are just nice to talk about."

"No, they're not."

"Then what do you want to talk about?"

"Nothing."

My words caused the madman to pause for a moment, but sure enough...

"A blue Prius is pretty gay."

Just ignore him, James. Ignore him.

"It is not gay, it's a nice car."

"For gay people."

"No, for everybody."

"Colored like the sky because you like other guys."

"That's terrible. You shouldn't say things like-"

"Saving gas and pumping ass."

Dammit.

"Moving slow so the trees can grow."

"Heh..." Starting slow, a few chuckles escaped me. "Y-you should be ashamed."

The sound of a snort sounded out behind me, as the madman surely had a stupid look emerge on his face.

"That's awful..." My scolding was broken up by chuckling, its meaning completely lost. Well it wasn't a real scolding in the first place.

Behind me, the sound of laughter erupted from the madman. Then, like the plague, that laughter spread to me. Like this, the two of us started laughing as we continued forward.

Catching my breath, my voice sounded out. "Promoting green while sucking peen."

"Goddammit..."

We laughed for a good half a minute before calming down. The last time I laughed like this was back in college, no, maybe even farther back.

We had walked halfway to the beach now.

"See, chatting can be fun," Phillip said, the laughter still lingering in his voice.

"A little bit."

"So, faith, how about that?"

"You'll never shut up about it, will you."

"That's right."

A persistent bastard, this Phillip. We had a good laugh and you go right back to roses? Well fine. You've come this far, so why not.

"My wife."

"Huh?"

After pausing for a moment, my explanation continued: "She died tomorrow five years ago. Roses were her favorite flower-- said they reminded her of home."

I paused once more, perhaps waiting for Phillip's response, yet it didn't come.

"When we went to her old home, I understood why. The whole place was absolutely covered with them. Not just one or two shades either, a whole bunch of colors you'd never even think a flower could be. It was absolutely ridiculous."

"...What was her favorite color?"

"Red. All those colors and she picked the most common one."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Nah, don't be," I said, waving my hand. "She cheated with the neighbor, ended up marrying him."

"That's terrible!"

I shook my head. "Nah, she had every right. I was a sorry drunk back then, couldn't even hold a job at the local store. I wasn't violent, but I had a son. Can't help but wonder what kind of person he thought I was. What does he think now?"

"...Certainly not good things."

"Oh, you don't say."

Tell one thing and the rest will flow out like water from a broken dam. How aggravating. Ridiculous.

"But it seems that you've cleaned up."

I nodded. "In a sense, yeah."

"You got a nice shirt and tie, fancy pair of pants, even some dressy shoes. The black sneakers I'm wearing right now are the closest I got to those."

"None of it really means anything," I said, shaking my head." Want to know why? "

"Sure."

"The nicer a man's clothes, the less of a man he really is."

"What's that mean?"

"Business sucks your soul out; makes people into numbers. When you buy a nice suit, you're paying with your soul, and that doesn't come back at the end of the month."

"Well it can't be all bad."

This time, I nodded. "Just my personal experience."

"So what exactly is your job then?"

"Doesn't matter, quit last week."

"Why?"

"I didn't clean up to have a life like that."

"But you're probably doing better now than you were, well, before. Isn't that what cleaning up is about?"

"Mm, maybe. Wasn't for me though."

With that, Phillip and I finally reached the end of the road, and arrived at the beach.

The sand was a dull gray, and spectacularly clean. Only a few pieces of trash were visible to my eye. The most spectacular part of the beach, though, was not the sand, but of course the ocean. It produced a beautiful glimmer as it basked in the sun, producing exciting gray waves that rolled over the dull gray sand.

The ocean is beautiful-- surely a tired phrase. And even though it's used as praise for its physicality, I'd rather say that the ocean's appearance was dull and boring. Instead, the ocean was beautiful not for its appearance, but its meaning.

Suddenly, feeling a tap on my shoulder, my thoughts were ended.

"Hey, you froze up for a moment there," Phillip said with worry, or rather, his emotionless smile.

"Apologies. Just admiring things."

Shaking my head, I began to walk once more, stepping onto the sand. The feeling of my right foot sinking into the ground was most unpleasant, but my left foot carried on like a good soldier.

One foot in front of the other, rinse and repeat, until I reached the water's edge.

Lying there was a man, half his head blown across the sand, dying everything a color much too garish for my tastes. Though the gun he used, a snub-nose revolver judging by the gun in his hand, was something I had shot many times. A reliable weapon.

Even when presented with such a gruesome scene, my heart didn't skip a beat. My gaze simply moved from the body and onto the great body of water next to it.

I simply gazed at the water. "Is this hell?"

"No."

"Well it certainly isn't heaven is it."

"No, it isn't."

"Don't leave a man guessing then."

The sound of a person stepping through sand kept getting closer to me, but my gaze remained fixed on the ocean. Even when the sound stopped next to me, I didn't even bat an eye.

"Upon the moment of one's death, they do not actually die. At least not completely. Their souls are simply moved to the afterlife, a place where they continue to live until their natural lifespan runs out."

"Then what's that over there?"

"Your first life."

"What, so my natural lifespan was just five years more? Five years so I could just pull the trigger again?"

"No. If one dies of unnatural causes in the afterlife, then they will always die in the same place as they died before."

"Then are you here to stop me?"

"I am here to judge. Nothing more, nothing less."

"And if I just walk away?"

"You won't."

"What do you mean, 'I won't'. All I've got to do is turn back."

"But you've already decided. You're already holding the gun to your head."

"...What'll happen to me?"

"You'll forget this life and move on to the next, and the cycle will repeat until you've died a natural death."

"Well that sounds like a rubbish system."

"It is not perfect."

"Good."

Then the seagulls scattered.

 

@Aca1814ina @brasca123

I revised it! \o/ Hopefully it's better now, but if it still isn't then I'll rewrite it again! (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و

 

<.<
>.>

I have yet to read any submissions, I don't want them to influence mine, so I'm waiting until I finish my own to start reading...

I'll make sure to give you feedback once I do read it though Psyx-chan!

 

*Shocked that the person who started this thread hasn't finished theirs yet*
I have high hopes for you...

 

<.<
>.>

I was busy!!!

Not with RL though, but I had my fair share of things to do on NUF, AG alone already takes plenty of time after all... I'll probably do it today or tomorrow.

 

*Hopes are lowered, but still expects it to be better than most of the stories already posted*

 

I'll probably read the stories again and be able to give more critiques tomorrow. ><

 

AG?

 

Adventurer's Guild, take a look at my sig if you're interested! It's a pretty nice and laid back RP!

And it only takes plenty of time if you want it to.

 

Yo yo @iampsyx

Spoiler: Feedback

So I read your story, Ver2. It's cool to play with second person narration, I was never brave enough to do that. The plus side being the at reader feels that they are part of the story, but its gift is also its curse since that ability can only be triggered on the condition that the reader feels the story is applicable to them.

Unfortunately, of all the near death experiences I have had in my life none of it was suicidal… yet.

But stories are multi-layered animals so to connect with the reader may not necessarily need to rely on the events/plot alone, and can depend on how receptive the reader is to the subtleties of the story, or if subtleties existed in the story.

One of these subtleties, the question who is the narrator, God? Death? Or the person is talking to him or herself. This is interesting because at the start of the story there were some traces of Gallows humor, and was quite accusative, and as the story progresses the narrator was also a bit judgemental in its narration of the action. What could be played with is the difference in the action the narrator’s stance on the events unfolding.

From the outset, the story may not appear to have any conflict. But the conflict can be identified between the narrator and the “you” and depends on how it is written there can be more fun to play with there.

Doesn't that sound fun? The narrator is also a character? With it own voice, dreams and motivations? (Afterthought: at the same time, don't narrator with too strong a presence marginalize the characters of the story...how to balance it?)

One other thing is the “If you're really dead, and you feel perfectly normal, then you could say that you've been dead inside for a long time already, right?”

That is gold, that's the good stuff.

Within the story, this question may not appear to be the focus. But for me, it was not the tragedy or mystery or depression or frustration o the events, it was this question that stood out. It was a good question.

Question like these and what it represents are like little slices of magic, people made very interesting stories out of them, like Life on Mars (UK TV series 2006), (John Simm is amazing!!!) But since it is an interesting question, it is nice to have it be a part of the story, but just don't let it outshine what you really want to say.

Now for some life on mars

 

I'm gonna start professing my undying love to anyone who gives me critiques. I love you, @Imnotarobot! And @Aca1814ina too! >///////w////////<

Short stories are the perfect guinea pigs for experimenting with different writing styles---I don't think I'll be able to write a full novel in 2nd person narration! (Heck, I haven't even finished a novel yet lol) Why don't you try it for the next writing prompt? It's really fun!

Honestly, I was going for the 'make your reader feel what the mc is feeling' effect, but I kinda screwed up that part, huh? @Aca1814ina's right; conveying all the emotions a suicidal person feels is really hard, especially in a short story. You'd have to jam-pack information and use sentences that mean 10 different things with as less words as possible(which is something I'd like to learn someday).

Shouldn't that be 'fortunately'? Although I do believe that one's experiences, no matter how difficult or sad, can be used as fodder and fuel for story-writing, and some might want to experience lots of things to widen their perspective in life (which includes me too lol). Not that I'm saying that people should try committing suicide! (If it's not obvious yet, this story was inspired by my own experience a long time ago. I can't speak for everybody else, but as I've come to terms with my issues at that time, I learned lots of things about myself. I also can't give advice for other people who's suffering from depression or other problems, because I don't know what they're going through. All I can say is that I'm happy now, and I'll hear out anyone who wants to talk to me. ^^)

Yep, the narrator is actually the main character, and also reflects a twisted side of my sense of humor lol. I've never noticed the 'judgmental' part, though, so thanks for pointing it out! (And maybe explain it a bit further too?) \o/

“If you're really dead, and you feel perfectly normal, then you could say that you've been dead inside for a long time already, right?” is a line that just popped out of nowhere. Most of my writing is just a 'let's see what happens next when we get there' thing, so the story as a whole might feel disjointed (as if it can't make up its mind on what to really say and focus on---which is me in a nutshell) lololololol.

I don't really get the song, because I'm not from America. What does it mean?

Thank you so friggin' much for the critique! *glomps*

 

@Aca1814ina I feel like you miss the theme. It's outside of my judge ability.

Spoiler

@iampsyx try delete the first two line and reread it. I think it's a lot better so. This is my opinion.

I also read the old story but I disagree about it's bad. Before suicide and after suicide is a lot different character settings. Before is desire of death and need reasons and emotions. After(if you survive) is desire of life and need emptiness and will of improvement.

Spoiler

@Imnotarobot I guessed only the fake fiancée. I need improve myself as reader *take note to use more my guessing ability to mystery story* I feel it as a good story.

 

But I like them... Desire of life, huh? *starts musing*

Thanks for reading both versions! ^^ (When the heck am I going to give critiques for the other stories? orz)